Black and White, and Every Other Color
by ThatNorthwestGirl
Summary: It's like standing in a crowded room, but you're still all alone. It's because you're scared to feel what you don't understand.But you still fell in love with people you knew we'd lose. So Dance. Laugh. Sing. Love. Just don't cry when I say I told you so.
1. Prologue

I tried to paint myself a picture, once upon a time ago.

It was of a city. Just a city, no people or creatures of assorted types to fill in the empty spaces. The City liked it that way though, it didn't need anything other than itself to keep it company. It was a happy sort of place that very few knew of. It was The City of Black and White.

It seemed like color would not compliment The City. Reds and blues didn't fit in. Green and yellows found no home. Purples and oranges spoke too loud. All The City knew was Black and White. It was born that way and it will remain that way forever. And after all, Black and White always compliment each other.

From anyone's point of view The City looked cold, desolate, so… isolated. But it's alright because White and Black always had each other to keep themselves company.

Black was always a well grounded color. It was happy the way it was, it didn't need another color to feel that way. It didn't fall quick to other's influence, the only other color it was weak to was White. A color that made it soft and dimmer around the edges.

Now White was different. It had always been a free spirit. Always looking for something more- Something it didn't understand. White was never alone- Black was always by it's side, but it still felt lonely. White was such a boring color, it wanted to be more vibrant. It believed that a whole world of color existed beyond this city and it wanted to see it, but was too terrified to. So White waited patiently for a brilliant color to dye it a better color. To make The City not so empty, make it complete. But a different color never crossed into The City. Year after year after year. Still, White never ventured to find a color itself. No, it wouldn't ever dream of it.

The City of Black and White was safe. White would rather assure always being beside Black than risk having nothing at all. Rather stay safe than step outside The City and experience all the negatives. The Danger. The Fear. The Loneliness.

I threw that painting away, for it reminded me too much of my own feelings that I like to keep at bay in my thoughts. If my heart had a color, it would be white. Empty, untouched, yearning, waiting- Always waiting. Black is there also, but he can only take up so much space. My heart-shaped city can not survive with only two colors.

So tell me your color. Tell me, can it paint this city?

...

**I'm tackling Ouran finally! I'm still on the fence about this though. Interesting or dull? Curious to find out what all of this random rambling has to do with the main characters? Definitely will be having OC's so if you don't like it, we will be parting ways right now and there will be no issues. so before I continue this story I want to know what people are thinking right now because I don't want to write if no one's going to read it. I hate asking, but review your thoughts! Please and Thank you :)**


	2. Words to Consider

**[Marinn's POV]**

Live. Laugh. Love.

I have been considering words that begin with the letter L. Those three are my favorite. I feel like those are the basic guidelines to a happy life. I think that since I don't believe in a particular religion that I'll devote myself to following those three little words. Etch them into my brain until it's all my body can perform. I feel like it'll be a long time until I get to that point though.

Loneliness. Loss. Lacking.

These are words that also begin with the letter L and I wish they didn't. This is the pattern my life has fallen into. Now, living any other way seems impossible after fifteen long years. It would take something impossibly big to break through the concrete molding around my heart that is most likely labeled as typical teenage angst related suffering. For now, there just a crack breaking through and that crack is the only thing keeping me breathing. It's like a single beam of sunlight in an otherwise pitch-black room. The sun keeps me warm, smiling, moderately happy and that sun's name is Markus.

We are twins. Identical.

It's a fact that no one could deny or ever change. And boy, have they tried. Everyone said it was a long shot for a girl and her twin brother to share all the same physical traits as they grew older. They thought I, being the girl, would grow her hair long, dress herself in frilly skirts and pearls, inherit a shapely womanly body from my mother. Like most other times, people were _wrong_.

Markus and I look more alike than ever with the unique brightness of our large green eyes, our skinny and awkward statures, the ivory pigments of our skin. But the main culprit for our likeness is my _scandalous _boyish haircut, as our mother calls it. Whatever, I don't care what people think of me, for I know no one worth impressing.

I stare at Markus from the safety of his lap, observing his bored expression as he stares out the window. I pull on his shirt, grabbing his attention.

"Can you tell me a word beginning with the letter L?" I ask. A sad smile plays on his lips as he stares down at me. He realizes that I'm in a state of over thinking about absolutely nothing- Something I do to drown out my feelings. But he will never question why I ask such ridiculous things, always answer them with the utmost seriousness. He will always play along with my games. No matter what.

"Leaving." He grumbles while scrunching up his face with a prominent disapproving look. Leaving is an excellent L word. It's a good word because we're in the process of using it at the moment.

"Tell me why we're transferring so late in the semester again? Markus inquires for the ten billionth time by my count. I sit up, and I already miss the comfortable position I was in before.

"Why _are _we transferring so late?" I echo to our mother who's patience is being snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame with no oxygen. She heaves a sigh and makes an effort to comfort me. It does not work when she pats my head and immediately recoils her hand and wipes it on the fur of her coat like I had given her the pox.

"You two are very bright- Your teachers argue that you don't even need to be in school because they have nothing to teach you that you don't already know." I expect her to be proud. Say how lucky she is to have such intellectually gifted children. Instead her eyes are trained on her designer pumps, admiring them more than us-her children. It's as if we don't even exist and she's just talking aloud to herself. "Ouran is said to be a very challenging school and I only want what's best for you."

Markus and I exchange a glance. Scornful. She has been feeding us the line, _"I only want what's best for you_" since the moment of our birth and it never ceases to be old. It's not like we hate our mother, but she is indeed very hard to like.

Our mother, Juliana Gray, is a very wealthy woman. She was a beautiful creature. Long dark honey colored hair like mine and Markus', eyes as blue and clear as a Hawaiian sea. Curvy and everyone's idea of the perfect woman. She is a model currently for Chanel, one of the best people say. Every picture of her's I see she looks stunning and like loveliest woman ever to exist. I sometimes become envious because I know I could never look like her, but then I remember how ugly her personality is and how much I never want to become like her. Self-centered, cheap, dark-hearted, shallow.

Markus and I never met our father, but we know he was a cur. Mother never told us the story, but we figured out the story when we overhead the staff talking one night. Apparently our father was the first son of a very successful publishing company, therefore had all the money he wanted. He chickened out late into my mother's pregnancy, offered her a large sum of money and an apology for the abandonment.

Mother's greed got the best of her and she took the money. She always told us she secured the money from working as a model for the majority of her life and that our father had died from an illness.

We were raised on luxury and lies, which are also very good words beginning with the letter L.

"Mom, think about it. We _can't _read Japanese. We _can't _write Japanese. We can't _speak _Japanese. How do you expect us to go to a Japanese school?" Markus snaps, temper rising. I offer a comforting smile and fall into him, hanging lazily off his shoulder and playing with the tips of his hair. Markus is stubborn. Direct. Stupid. Reckless. I wouldn't have him any other way.

"He makes a good point, mother." I say, nuzzling my face in the crook of Markus' neck. I can see my mother's grimace from the corner of my eye. She does not approve of the closeness Markus and I share. The way we are always touching in intimate gestures, the secrets only we share, how we complete each other. I know she finds it mildly disgusting, but I think its beautiful; this love we share.

"Y-You two will learn. You are very bright." She stumbles. Markus' soft sigh does not go unnoticed by me. Our mother has a programmed speech pattern when it comes to us, repeating things constantly because she does not want to speak to us more than is necessary. Every response to us is either,

_"You two are very bright."_

Or,

_"When you're older, you'll understand."_

Or,

_"I am your mother and you are my children, that's why i know best."_

Or,

_"I only want what's best for you."_

Answers that are so impossibly closed minded, ones that can have no follow up questions. Mother finally looks at us and I search for something. A shred of kindness or love. I am staring at an empty glass of a woman.

My hand curls itself over Markus' fist. My fingers make a home between the space of his palm and folded fingers as we settle in for defeat. There is no point to this debate. We will be going regardless of our arguments. The point is that we tried. Tried and failed.

It's cold outside, _chilly _as my mother says. I draw a tiny sparrow with my fingertip on the condensation forming on the window. It is like me, I'd like to think. Such a fragile, breakable creature hell-bent on escaping. Pick up it's wings and run away to sunnier days. But we can't because we are trapped, for we have given up long before we even started. We do not know how to fly and do not bother trying to learn. Things should stay the same. Different is too unpredictable, too scary.

Markus must notice my face growing long with thought. He leans over me and draws a second sparrow, encases them in a heart. They are a pair. Markus and I are also a pair. I shoot a quick smile at him and he returns it. That's why I love Markus so much. He understands.

Understands how the real world is unsafe. That people are nothing but a shadow of feelings. Always asking what is wrong with us. Why are they so sad looking? Why don't they have any other friends beside each other? Why are they trying so hard to stay to themselves? These are questions that make it sound like people are at least a little concerned, but the truth is they couldn't care less about you. Everyone is a naturally born liar, but not Markus and I. We would never feign our love out of sympathy. That's why we have fallen behind in society, surrounded our selves in impenetrable barriers. A world of our own that belongs to only us. For fifteen, going on sixteen years, no one has even come close to entering that world.

Our car slows then stops and I feel a lump gather in my throat. I didn't know why I suddenly felt like my life was collapsing in on itself. I hated New York. It was crowded and dirty and superficial. But it was home.

The car door opens from the outside and I cringe back like the world outside this limo will devour me whole. I take a shaky breath and step out into the wilderness known as JFK International Airport.

"Goodbye Eugene." I sniff, feeling homesick already. The elderly chauffer offers me a pat on the shoulder.

"Don't fret, Markus. You'll do fine in Japan. You're a strapping young man, the ladies will be all over you." He chuckles, nudging me with his elbow. It is sharp and painful, like a blade jabbing into the side of my arm, so naturally I cringe away. I muster up my best smile, but I'm sure it's dripping in disappointment.

"I'm Marinn." I correct. It's a common mistake that is made all too often. Eugene's face falls, it's common courtesy to feel bad for mistaken identity. You feel like you should know better, have some trick for remembering the difference. _So why don't you?_

"Sorry, Miss Marinn. It's just you two look so similar." He says. It's always the same excuse, but we are twins and we look the same. It can not be helped.

"Yeah, we do." I say softly, partially forgiving him. Eugene was good to us. He was a loyal employee who would do anything for us. Even those late night drives to Taco Bell when Markus and I grew tired of high class food and had to sneak around because she would kill us if she found out. "_Carbs are the body's terrorists set on destroying us all"_, is our mother's favorite saying. It is why Markus and I are so thin, years of strict dieting enforced by our mother. Nothing would shame her more than her daughter looking like a boy other than her children being slightly overweight.

Markus throws my suitcase into my stomach which nearly knocks me over. I narrowly catch it and I glare at him through the slits of my eyes. Seriously, did he have to throw it? I could have simply gotten it myself or he could have set it next to me, but no. Markus likes to annoy me just because he can.

"See you around, old man." Markus nods slightly, giving his thanks for all Eugene really has done for us. Eugene returns it and it sinks in that this is really happening. We're really leaving and there's no possible way to change that fact.

Markus grips my hand tight as we walk into the airport and our thoughts drift in the same pattern. We have made nothing of ourselves. We had no friends, did not do something exceedingly extraordinary and have left little to no impression on others. We will be forgotten and no one will care. There is nothing to remain here of us other than two badly drawn sparrows on a window. Somehow, that's really… Sad.

I think I will start considering words that begin with the letter S.


	3. Eat or Be Eaten

**[Markus P.O.V]**

The storm brought a heavy lashing of rain to rattle at our windows, and our thoughts. We could not sleep when the sky poured it's contents onto the earth, my sister and I. When I woke up around one in the morning, I found the space beside me empty. The shape of her body was still imprinted in the sheets, though. I run my fingertips over the wrinkled fabric and absorb the stories it told. The song of a girl who is troubled, empty, lost. A girl who really doesn't deserve any of those titles.

This mansion is unnecessarily big. There are too many rooms, too much space that we can't fill no matter how hard we try. The fifteenth step on the third floor staircase screams like a banshee whenever you put the slightest amount of weight on it. Everything is painted white. The floors, the walls, the ceilings-everything. Even in the dead of night I can't help but shield my eyes from it's sterile, relatable-to-a-hospital sort of color. There are so many bad things, and not a single good one.

I climb to the roof and found her sitting just north of the gutters, long bare legs peeking out of her nightgown cascade off the side like porcelain waterfalls. Above her head she holds a bright red umbrella as she stares out into the strange new world we've been thrown into known as Japan. She knows I am behind her, when she turns her eyes shine like fireflies in the dark.

"You moron," I call through the sheets of downpour, covering my head ineffectively from the rain with the width of my hand. "You're going to get sick and then you're to get _me _sick"

She doesn't answer, but instead just stares at me. Her eyes, which are also my eyes, are mesmerizing in the indigo night air. The color of freshly mown grass with flecks of yellow strewn about in them. Before I know it, I am being pulled toward her, an inevitable magnetism that I can't escape from.

"Go to bed." I order firmly. She stays silent as she turns her attention back to the lights of the city.

"It is raining." She states, reaching out as if to touch a single raindrop with her finger, stall the ultimate doom of it colliding against the ground. She does not budge as the rain does not stop, licks through her fingers, but I can tell she is disappointed that she couldn't do it. Save something as insignificant as a raindrop.

I sit next to her, and I rest my head on her shoulder. She smelled of laundry soap, rain and her favorite raspberry body spray that every other girl in the world stopped using in fourth grade because it isn't cool anymore. But not her. Marinn is different.

"I like rain. It changes things." She hums as she spins the umbrella in circles above our heads, watches as the water flies off at full speed.

"Changes things." I repeat. I wanted to let her know I was listening, even though I didn't have a goddamn clue what she was talking about.

Marinn thoughts and actions were like a complex poem that took hours to dissect and understand. From the outside, she looked like anyone else. Normal, surviving in the dense, poisonous forest known as life. But that far away look in her eyes suggested that she was looking beyond what anyone could see. We are twins. We are the same, but I can not see what she sees. I can not help her search for whatever makes her feel like I am not enough. I have tried and no matter how hard I do, I cannot give the world's secrets to her.

"See that building?" She asks pointing to a silhouette of a large structure, a monstrosity in the dark. "That's our new school, Ouran Academy. " I don't understand. We were on the topic of change, now we are talking about school. Her subject changes are like scattered change in my head. I can't decide which one to pick up first, the quarter or the dime.

"Yeah." Is the reply that comes out of my mouth. It sounds stupid even to me. "Are you nervous?" I ask, craning my neck towards her face to watch her expression as she answers. She stares at her feet as she swings them over the edge of the roof in messy patterns.

"Tomorrow we change." She says, stretching her left leg outright, pointing her toes to the school. "We walk straight a trap. A place where fortune means power, gossip rules over your entire being, popularity is a contest that everyone must win. Eat them, eat us." She tells me. I snort.

"I think you mean _eat or be eaten._" I correct. Marinn shakes her head in one of two ways. One is that she's just stubborn and refuses to be wrong. The other way is that I don't understand her. Either way she laughs, a reassuring gesture for my sake.

"Sure, Markie. Sure." She takes note of my cringe and offers my a smile. She has been calling my that stupid nickname ever since I can remember. I tell her not to call me that in public because I tell her it's embarrassing. Truth is though, I don't really care. I actually kind of like it. It is something she has created for me, and only me. I am hers and she is mine.

"I think I'd like to change." She whispers into the air. I pretend not to hear her because I am scared of the impact of those words. I _despise _change. Why must we always look for things we can't have and can't just be happy with the things we already possess? It has always been her and I and no one else. I want that to stay the same. I don't want to _lose _her. Not yet, not ever.

"I want to be colorful." She reaches out towards the school, leaning forwards so far that I keep a tight hold on her arm, paranoid that she's going to fall four stories off the roof and to the ground below. She bends her fingers, stops before she can close them all the way like she's almost scared to. In a split second her attitude changes, clenching her hand in a tight fist. Her knuckles are as white as our house. She recoils her fist toward her heart, cradling it with her other hand carefully like holding a newborn child.

I don't want to say the wrong thing. I don't want her to hate me. So I say the only thing even remotely considerate that my rain-washed mind can think of.

"Don't forget who you are."

She is quiet again, folds over me so that my head is on her shoulder, her head resting on mine. Her hair keeps getting in my face but I cant stand to have her any further away.

"I promise." She whispers, a vow to a court rain clouds and the moon. It is a nothing short of a lie.

Because I can already feel her slipping away. Somehow, I can feel it in my bones that something disastrous is going to happen. It will no longer be just us and everyone else. The lines will blur together, dissipate, cease to exist- Our world will be washed away by the rain, and be replaced with an entity of light.

Tomorrow, we will be changed.


	4. Hopeless Infatuation

**[Marinn's P.O.V.]**

When sliding out of the limo this morning, I had already twisted a negative opinion around this school that can never be unwrapped.

Everything about Ouran Academy is beautifully grotesque.

Could there be a color any more pink than the one adorning every inch of this academic prison cell? Not to mention, the girl's uniform is the definition of terrible designing. I could have walked around after being hit with a cargo train and still look better than that dress with it's awkward angles and cheap yellow cupcake frosting coloring. It was a good thing that our mother, with her model-like tendency to judge clothing, was just as repulsed by it as I was and reluctantly agreed to let me wear the boy's uniform. I wear it like a trophy that has a need to be displayed on the highest shelf; every button buttoned, my tie in place, my black slacks ironed flat. Like a proper _boy. _Markus on the other hand looks like and egotistical punk. His baby blue blazer torn open, the length of his neck and three button lengths of chest showing, runaway tie and his badly tied shoes say it all.

But, if I had to chose one thing that I hated most about this school, it would be the people. Girls gawked at us, running to a flock of yellow and blue sheep to conjure up an excited song of gossip. When we passed the other students in the hall they would wear customary half smiles, more inward than outward, waiting for us to walk toward them, see how we could be of value to them. Learn our unfixable faults. Learn how to destroy us. I felt like a deer in the midst of hunting season and all the hunters were out to play.

We tried to avoid everyone, just make it to our class and hide in the corner. I had planned it out every tedious moment in my head. I would try to make a thousand origami swans before the school day was over, Markus would etch something crude into the skin of his desk. We would be found odd and therefore ignored. That's how I had thought it to happen, but the set future I had planned was over before it began.

A girl, no older than us, stood in the way of our path. A shy brunette who keeps uneasily looking over her shoulder at a group of giggling girls who have dared her to confront us. What a pour manipulative soul.

"Er… Hello." She squeaks like the fifteenth stair of the third staircase in our house. "A-Are you two new here? Because if you are, maybe I could-"

"Thanks, but no thanks." Markus deadpans, crushing the pour girl's hopes of making friends with a moderately attractive pair of twins. We try to move around her only to be stopped by two more girls, her friends that were jeering at her not only twenty seconds ago.

"Hold on," This comes form a taller girl with eyes spaced too far apart and large lips that don't quite close all the way. "You're foreigners right? It wouldn't be a bad idea to have people you know on your first day. Come now, we wont bite." She coos, a song with a sickly melody and dark meaning hiding in the shadows. An insignificant triumph shows on her face at the thought that she has swayed us. I am saddened by her sheer naivety.

"I said, 'Not. Interested.'" Markus' words roll of his tongue like a hiss as he takes my wrist and tries to pull me forward. The other girl, the one with impossibly straight black hair, reaches her arm across us slightly touching her fingertip to my chest.

"What about your twin? Doesn't he have something to say?" She questions.

_He_. Even A complete stranger can see how things were supposed to be.

I was supposed to be a boy, said the hefty mistake on the doctor's readings of my unborn sea monkey like body within my mother . Malcolm. That was the name I would have had I not been born lacking the key ingredients for a man.

So I started off as Malcolm, then turned into Marinn. I am curious to know if I could change once more, a final stage of a caterpillar's transformation. Become a beautiful butterfly who's wings everyone would be envious of. But for know I am just Marinn, trapped in her boring old cocoon.

I do not end up answering, but the somehow the situation has spread like wildfire. Instead of three girls blocking our way, there was now a tidal wave of them. A cloud of yellow plague rolling over the horizon, I think bitterly. Everyone's mouths begin moving at once. Asking, prodding for every detail we have to offer. Their questions are loud and sharp as a blade. Each unanswerable question, slicing me open and tearing out all the secrets I posses. I begin to get frightened as feminine hands grasp in innocent yet possessive gestures at my blazer, the crook of my arm, down my neck.

"Run." Markus orders into my ear.

And that's what I do. I rocket myself through the crowd and run as if I was being chased by a serial killer with a knife, a bird being targeted by a cat, a girl watching her first love walk away. My steps sing like a drum against the marble floors in tune to the rapid beating in my chest. I do not look behind me, I never do. Dwelling on things that have been passed is a natural function in humans that I do not understand. If we do not look forward, how will we survive? If we run backwards, we will trip and fall. If we let a burden sit on our shoulders, we will crumble. If we sit and stare, we never move on. So, I just run until I can't run anymore.

I throw myself around a corner, plaster myself to the wall like paint. I wait and listen. Blink once. Blink twice. The sound of stampede is fading into the pink reflection of this school. Hesitantly, I peek one lime colored eye around the wall, smile forming at the empty space ahead.

"What in the world is this place!" I giggle, bending at my middle then straightening out again, feeling my laughter is like a tiny thread being unraveled in the pit of my stomach. This school is a world of it's own, dredged in wealth and unheard of obsession. We were merely a new shiny toy added into this school's old boring toy box, of course we would be taken interest in, that much was expected. But to have been targeted by every spoiled child waiting dormant in every seemingly refined young woman was something I could not have foreseen even it had hit me in the face in the form of a dead fish.

"Did you see their faces? Drunk off hopeless infatuation! Something tells me the girls here are easily molded under the will of attraction. Should we have some fun with this little bit of knowledge, Markie?" I ask, snippets of amusement trailing after my words. I am met with an unsettling reply of my own echo. Markus' slightly deeper, rough around the edges, voice does not answer mine. The hairs stand alert on the back of my neck.

"Markie?" His name drips like a thick string of curiosity from my mouth as I turn around. I am not eye to eye with my mirror image as it always is. I have lost him.

It is something so few can understand. Not being beside your twin causes the biggest paranoia imaginable to make a home in your system. It is frightening, like suddenly looking in the mirror and releasing that you have been cut directly in half. If you don't find the missing part of you in a matter of seconds and reattach yourself, you will bleed out and die.

I startle forward unknowingly, wrapped up in the sudden pain of loneliness. My gangly legs trip over each other and I fall to the floor, heavy and as forceful as a plane crash. I begin to cry, silent and unmoving. Like a rock with a stray bead of rain rolling down it's surface. I am alone in this _stupid _school and I can't even walk to save my life. I want him back. I want him to call me an idiot, be completely cold-hearted, unfazed on the outside but panic ridden on the inside. I want _him _and only _him. _

"Are you alright?"

Eyes roll up, the green being died red. _Hate_. I hate you. I hate everyone that is not him. You are as useless as a fly, insignificant as a sneeze. But when I look- _Really_ look into that phenomenal color, the despise is snuffed out and replaced with nothing. I am drowning. Lost and aching for understanding why my throat is aching with a lack of what to say.

He is beautiful, was the first thing that shamefully popped into my mind which I eagerly pushed away. I told myself it was only my artist's view upon seeing something that holds lovely characteristics, something that made me want to observe and replicate that made me so intrigued with him. Yes, that was it, surely. I mean, what else could it be? Why else would I want to stare at that soft, innocent curiosity painting his face- like a puppy, I decided- for hours on end?

His complexion, was pale and spotless- Perfect. He had such an unrealistically symmetrical and handsome face. Blonde sheet of hair and a proud, tall stance. Prince- like is the best way to describe it. His eyes were stunning, a paralyzing bolt of lightning through my blank canvas of a heart. I didn't even know such a vibrant color of violet existed, I fear I can't even duplicate it. I can already predict the hours of frustrated work trying to mix this color and that color trying to get the shade just right. It sounds tedious. I want to stand up and pick the color from his eyes like a weak-stemmed flower and transfer it to the nearest blank sheet of paper.

"Are you alright?" He asks again. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

"I'm fine." I say, struggling to remain my balance after I get up too fast. It's a lie. I want Markus back. I want him to explain why I'm trying so hard to contain a ridiculous smile from bubbling up on my face, upon seeing this strange boy. Ask him why this stranger looks so relieved for my well-being in this moment.

"Thank goodness. You have a nice face, it would be a shame if it got scratched." He tells me, taking a small step forward. My heart feels like a closed flower awakening to the first rays of morning sun, a question rising on each and every one of my petals.

Can he tell? Can he see passed this boyish outer shell and see the delicate girl beneath? How can he tell? A natural knack at seeing what is beyond first glance or perhaps a paranormal gift of some sort that allows him to know automatically? Who is he? _What _is he?

"For a boy, that is." He laughs, thinking I'll join in on the silliness of the thought of calling another boy's face pretty.

The petals freeze over and die.

"Thank you," The words are fake, lifeless. I don't mean them. I'm upset and I'm not entirely sure why. "I am looking for someone- My brother. Have you seen him?"

The boy blinks the confusion from his eyes from my sudden subject change. Maybe he expected me to pry further into his comment. Ask why he thought I had a so called pretty face. Or perhaps scoff at the comment, be mildly disgusted. Anything, but brushing him of like dandruff my shoulder. He musters up a smile, even though that grin comes easily to him. Naturally, I am envious.

"Well, let's see, what does he look like?" He asks. I shrug.

"About yay-high," I wave my flattened palm half an inch above my head, an amused expression on my face. "Dark blonde hair, green eyes, awkwardly placed freckles on the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks, he has a pretty face. For a boy, that is." I almost laugh at the last words, at how he sees that I have used his own words against him. His eyebrows furrow, confused, his smile has finally fallen off his face. Though, I must admit he still looks beautiful with a somber look on his face opposed to a the wonderfully radiant one he wore before.

"You just described yourself." He states, pointing out the obvious. I open my mouth to tell him about his stupidity, that he has left out the thought that I possessed a twin. It is quickly shut again as he leans in close to my face, his eyes beaming at me like he's discovered a valuable treasure.

"Do you…" He looks from side to side, peeks over his shoulder, stares behind me then looks into my eyes again with a hesitant determination on his face. "Have a clone?" The sentence is the form of a whisper, the secretive kind.

_Excuse me?_

Oh, but it does not stop there, when I do not respond he seems to take it as a yes to his question.

"That's amazing!" He shouts cheerfully in the middle of the hall gaining a few curious stares from people passing by. "What country are you from? You're obviously not Japanese, so it has to be somewhere with superior technology! I want to go there! I want one too!" He explains to me like a child would, in a torrent of barely understandable words and without thought. Behind that air of suaveness is nothing more than a toddler.

I am surprised by the sound escaping my throat. A laugh. Then another. Half of one slips out as I try to shove it down my throat again. It is a futile attempt, for an explosion of it erupts from my diaphragm and out through my mouth. It has been a long time since I've laughed this hard, too long. The feeling is foreign and strange tasting, but I can't seem to spit it out. What is happening to me?

The blonde takes a step back, a question forming on his face. He's so innocent, doesn't see that he's made a total fool of himself. Or perhaps he knows and just doesn't care. Either way, it sparks something inside of me. A little light at the end of a dark tunnel.

"You're weird," I state, swiping away a stray tear with the pad of my index finger. He looks taken back, a little saddened. A twinge of a smile forms on my face. "But don't you think all the best people are?"

I can see him thinking it over in his head, trying to think of an appropriate thing to say. Searching for the answer as seriously as a complex math question or a challenging riddle. Finally he says,

"Who may I have the pleasure of meeting?" It is too formal and he is trying too hard, but a person like him can pull it off.

"Mar…" I trail off as I catch sight of a mop of muddy blonde hair about ten feet ahead of me. "You ditched me!" I shout jabbing my finger through the air like a sword into body in the direction of my brother. Markus takes notice of me, does not make a move towards me as he shrugs. I will have to come to him.

"I didn't ditch you, moron. You simply ran the wrong way."

"Well, _sorry _if I didn't understand that when you said _run_ you had a specific place you wanted us to go, your majesty." I fake an all too exaggerated bow and Markus merely rolls his eyes.

"Whatever. Let's skip, this place is no better then a psyche ward." I agree so much that, I am already rushing by towards him and towards the door. If it were anyone else, I would have just passed them, acted like we had never met, but for some indefinable reason… This one was different.

"See you." I say timidly as I pass the unnaturally beautiful blonde. I dare not take my gaze off the floor as I sprint to Markus' side, slow into a steady walking speed next to him. The blonde doesn't respond, and the further we walk away from him, the more disappointment sinks in. What was I expecting? He doesn't care about me, I'm just some kid he found on the floor of the hallway. Our meeting was just a coincidence, a hiccup in the natural flow of our lives.

"See you!" He calls behind me. Markus stalls for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the boy then at me. I do not stop to answer questions, so Markus is forced to follow after me. That boy is different. I can tell. I suddenly wish I could go back, have a different conversation with him. I wish I at least knew his name, but that's the funny thing I suppose.

You might not believe me, but even though I didn't know his name or anything else about him for that matter, I felt as if I already knew exactly who he was.


	5. Perception

**[Markus' P.O.V]**

We did not go to school for days.

We would be dropped off every morning at Ouran by our driver, and picked up in the second parking lot when school ended. In between those two time periods though, we were far from doing anything even remotely academic.

We would do anything to waste time. Go to arcades and stay until we dominated the top score on every machine, loiter in coffee shops and bakeries until we got kicked out, wander around aimlessly, just sit with fingers intertwined on chipped park benches. When we returned home, we would run to the phone and wait for the school to call. Marinn would pick it up when it rang and impersonate our mother.

"Oh dear," Marinn would say with her voice two octaves too high to be her own while trying to bury a laugh down in her throat. "I'm afraid Markus and Marinn are still terribly ill. Sick to the bone, those children. Please excuse them from class today. ..Yes. ..Thank you."

The person on the other side of the line never suspected a thing, never dug any deeper than what they were looking for. In a way, I feel bad that there are people out there that are only satisfied with the natural want to believe that this world is good. That everyone is honest and kind-hearted. There would never be a reason for all the lies. Maybe it should be that way, it would be in everyone's best interest. But I know as we hang up the phone and snicker at how coy we are, how idiotic everyone else is, I know that fairy tale of a world where everything is perfect and happy does not exist.

Our fun soon came to an end like it always does.

Mom came home early one day without warning us first. She figured out that we haven't been attending school, threw a fit. She threatened if she found out we were skipping school just one more time, she would accompany us there for the rest of our high school lives. We couldn't get in the limo fast enough this morning.

Marinn sits wedged in the corner of our car with her feet on the seat, the side of her face plastered to the window. In her hands sits a brand new sketch pad, on the floor sits an explosion of drawing supplies. In an attempt to not give our new driver a heart attack while he was in the midst of driving, Marinn bought oil pastels to ensure no spills. I can tell she is not satisfied though. No matter how you look at it, Marinn is a painter. Any other method of art for her is like promising a drug addict heroin and giving them a needle full of sugar-water.

I peek over her shoulder at her drawing. It was of a girl, standing poised like a ballerina, leg out and arms out over the top of the school extenuating that it is a pristine pink eyesore and dumping a bucket of clocks into an inferno of below. A waste of her time, I interpreted. What's bothering me though is if you look close enough, in the last window on the right of the top floor, a tiny flower blooms. She sifts through every purple pastel she has, occasionally picking it up, but setting it down just as fast.

I've seen my sister do this many times before. She can agonize for hours on whether to use _yellow _or _golden yellow, _that I know. That wasn't what was clawing at my skin right now. What was on the other hand is what that tiny flower held of value to her, what it symbolized.

"Why does that flower have to be purple?" I finally ask. She does not look up, I'm starting to wonder if she heard me or not.

"Here," I lean over fingering through her pastels. "Red." I state jutting a blood colored pastel at her, trying to solve her strange dilemma over the purple.

"Did you know?" She asks, finally placing the tip of the brightest violet she has to paper. "Purple is the color of good judgment. It is said to bring spiritual fulfillment to those who seek it and if you surround yourself in it you will find peace of mind. Purple is also used to represent magic and mystery, as well as royalty. Being the combination of red and blue, the warmest and coolest colors, purple is believed to be the ideal color. However, since it is rare in nature it also appears artificial. When it comes to people, purple belongs to the eccentric and the creative."

I am startled as she tears her drawing from her sketchpad and starts making sharp, precise folds in the paper. All that work, all the pondering over which purple to use, the in-depth speech about that very color…useless. She reveals a newly made paper airplane to me before rolling down the window. We have somehow already arrived at school.

"Besides," She sticks half of herself out the window and throws the airplane, her picture, a part of herself, towards the sun. She watches it ride on the wind for a moment before crawling back in the car and turning towards me, a confused sort of smile on her face. "Purple has been proved to be a favorite among artists."

She seems to be trying to convince herself more of this fact than to me. She bends at her middle, carefully picking up all of her art tools and placing them in her bag, leaving her sketch pad for last. She pulls at the car door handle, kicks the door open and slinks outside.

"So, what about pink?" I ask as I follow her, and grimace at the sheer overuse of the color on this school. Her mouth forms into a tight line, thinking.

"Large amounts of pink can create physical weakness in both the body and the mind." She laughs uneasily. I can't tell if she's serious or not, but I can see the truth in her words.

"Now or never, brother!" She calls, somehow ending up several feet in front of me. My eyes scan over the school one more time.

_Physical weakness, huh?_

I chase after her and we enter the school. Discretely, of course. We don't want a repeat of the last time we attempted to walk around like civilized people in this madhouse. If walking in the halls made me miserable, then class 1A was going to be my own personal hell.

They are red-headed devils, and I _despise _them.

Upon walking into class, it seemed impossible to notice anything other than the two identical brothers sitting in the back of our class, looking about as surprised as we did to find another set of twins. We've never seen any others before. I think sometimes we forget that we aren't the only ones that possess this cursed blessing.

The teacher clears his throat to attract attention away from us. He's a stoutly man with a plain face and an ugly patterned tie that is most likely from his kids. Just another normal nobody with the misfortune of owning neck attire splattered with purple and yellow.

"Class, this is Marinn and Markus Gray." He points to the both of us, referring me to as Marinn and her as myself. I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but I am. "They just transferred from the United States so… I, um… Gray-san?" He loses his train of thought when Marinn goes marching down a row of desks, her gaze low.

I want to grab her by the back of her shirt, jerk her back, tell her to stop making such a scene. But I don't. Instead, I stay rooted to the front of class, a troubling feeling in my stomach weighing me down. The class holding it's breath in time with mine, anxious about how the situation is going to play out.

Marinn stops in front of the red-heads, just staring, calculating, sorting out all the things running through her head. And it bothers me. It bothers me extremely.

Marinn used to tell me a story when we were young that I remember clearly at this moment. She explained to me that before we were born, still being molded in the womb, something extraordinary happened. Inside our mother one soul split directly in two. She said this was because the world knew the soul would be one of a kind, and nobody would ever quite understand it, nor would the soul ever understand anyone else. That the soul would be so lonely that it couldn't function, and eventually die due to natural selection. So the world wanted to be kind and give the soul two bodies so that it would always have company. And so we were born, one soul being divided between two identical vessels. And that's what we grew up believing, that we were the same person sharing the same heartbeat between two bodies.

But in this moment, we are not the same. Standing there at the front of the class, I first felt it. The overwhelming realization that I was absent from her thoughts. Even if it were for a mere moment, I was severed from the never ending connection that tied me to her. She isn't thinking of just her and I, and the rest of the world any longer. All she can focus on is her half of the soul and the two boys sitting in front of her.

I am gone, I am lost, I am _nothing_ for that small, seemingly normal moment.

"Twins," She states finally, pointing to the two of them with each arm extended, looking extremely ridiculous. She turns to me at last, remembering me finally and she's wearing a silly sort of expression on her face. A smile. She graces my shoulder gently as she turns to face the others again, and the plants her hand on her heart. "and twins."

The strangers with identical faces exchange a look between themselves silently, sorting out their own thoughts about the strange person in front of them.

"Another pair of boys?" One starts.

"Well, that's boring." Finishes the other. The two shrug and fade into a conversation amongst themselves. The anger gathers in my face, the heat feeling the need to escape my mouth.

"Well who says you're so interesting? You bore me to death just by looking at you!" I shout, sounding much more childish than I intended. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I've caught them by surprise, left their mouths agape. That's all that matters, I suppose.

My hand clamps around Marinn's wrist and I pull her to an empty seat, then push her in it. She doesn't fight or protest, she's just as stunned as those irritating brothers. I smoothly settle into the seat next to her as if the whole scene did not just play out. I look into the sea of silent and pondering faces.

The teacher looks as if he'd been turned to stone by Medusa's gaze itself

"Well?" I say, giving an indifferent look around the room. "Get on with it."

"Y-Y-Yes." Sputters the teacher, gathering his bearings. "Class, today we'll be learning about-"

I choose to zone out immediately and try and sort out this mess forming in my head. I look at my sister, and the useless brothers who are still more interested in their desktops and what's outside the window more than us.

Despite their rudeness and inability to care whether we were there or not, Marinn still looks in their direction with soft-eyes and a meek smile trying to cover itself up.

I despise them because she has never smiled that way for anyone besides me before.

…

**[Marinn's P.O.V]**

Going to class was _so _worth it.

I want to get to know them. Hikaru and Kaoru, that is, whose name's I've learned through the class' roll call. Markus disagrees. He hasn't told me directly, but I can sense it.

A mental dispute passes between us through out homeroom.

I sketch them instead of taking notes. We all sit in the back row. I would sit directly next to one of the twins if a girl, Kokoro Shimizu, did not separate us. The red-heads wear the same bored expression as the other, but drastically different all the same.

The one closest to me, Hikaru's, face is more prominent. Showing that he is dreading every tedious word dripping from the teachers mouth. He looks down at nothing particular on his desk, perhaps a flaw in the wood or an ink stain, his golden yellow eyes heavy lidded with thought. With his arms crossed on his desk, I think it's only a matter of time before he buries his face in them and attempts to sleep.

Kaoru, on the other hand has just shut off. Lost to everyone in the world beside himself. With one hand against his cheek, he stares blankly out the window. The light bathes his face wonderfully and it is an artist's goldmine for someone like me.

Suddenly, he turns and catches me staring. I lower my gaze immediately, pretending to write down notes profusely. I take a shy peek at him through the security of my bangs and he's back to staring out the window again.

"And don't forget," The teachers voice suddenly decides to break into my thoughts. "The annual survey will take place after school. Everyone is required to finish it."

Groans echo from every direction.

…

By the end of the day, I mill around the outside of 1A waiting for Markus to finish that idiotic survey. It was oral, and insignificant. The teacher would ask you some questions about yourself and about your classes, if the lunch menu was satisfactory, and how often you studied outside of school. Seeing as Markus and I haven't been to any classes, eaten any school lunches, or studied outside of school, it was somewhat of a challenge, but I managed though with a few fabrications. Markus on the other hand would be more difficult and stubborn about it. He didn't like people to know anything about him.

I sit on the floor, flicking through these useless oil pastels, contemplating whether to color in my sketches of Hikaru and Kaoru and be unsatisfied with the outcome, or give into patience and wait until I can paint them in. Our new driver insisted on me using the pastels if I were to sketch in the limousine. I find myself missing Eugene once more. He always let me paint in the car. He trusted me enough to do so.

"Hey," It's those red-heads, leaning out of the classroom doorway. I quickly close my sketchbook which holds their faces like a well kept secret. They must be waiting to take their survey. I think their surname began with _H_, but I can't quite recall. This, I decide is significant though. Mine and Markus' surname, Gray, is so close to the unknown surname of _H. _Four little twins in an alphabetic row_. _"Markus."

"I'm Marinn." I correct.

"Whatever." They dismiss without a care in the world. "How long did your survey take?"

"Seven minutes." I reply without so much as a pause.

"Seven? The one on the left, Kaoru, asked.

I shrug, gathering my things and scrambling to my feet.

"Maybe it was more like ten." I say. I could not be certain. Time is illogical in this place. It either mores very quickly or very slowly, I've yet to decide. Regardless, I have no sense of the word. _Time. _I wonder if it even has a meaning to begin with. Everyone has such a different perception of it. I wonder how Hikaru and Kaoru perceived seven minutes. I wanted to try and guess. "No, it took half an hour. Seriously, it took like five minutes. You might as well just stay the night, it took forever."

They stare at me blankly, dissecting my words.

"Idiot?" They declare finally. I ponder about it for a moment and shrug again.

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."

We stare at each other quietly and awkwardly. Four amber eyes, two lime ones. It's like we're an equation. I try to solve it my head. 1 Hikaru + 1 Kaoru + 1 Marinn - 1 Markus = Friends? At least, that's what I'd like to happen, but I know it wont if I add Markus to the equation, which is a requirement.

1 Hikaru + 1 Kaoru + 1 Marinn + 1 Markus = Enemies/Borderline Strangers/Non-existent in relation with one another.

Markus does not like them already, and try as I might, _I_ could never change that fact. He's too stubborn. Too prideful to have friendships. And I am too introverted to do anything without him.

It does not stop me from wondering my constant thoughts of _What If's? _though.

As if on cue, Markus comes barreling though the door, disregarding Hikaru and Kaoru while spewing some rather choice curse words.

"That survey took a million years to finish!" He rants, throwing his hands up in frustration. In reality, he was only gone for eleven minutes.

Eleven minutes, a million years, _perception. _

"You look good for someone who is one million and 15 years old." I joke. I get a sliver of a smile from him. He finds it funny, but insists on being annoyed.

"Let's go home." He says. I nod and we're on our way.

I look over my shoulder at Hikaru and Kaoru as we walk away, bidding them a silent farewell I may never get to say to them. They watch people like we watch people, with hesitant, but prying eyes. A wondering gaze that questions if there could ever be someone who understood them.

"Why were you talking to those guys?" Markus asks, his voice dark. I startle like I've done something wrong, even though I haven't.

"They were asking how long my survey took." I say truthfully, looking at him. He grunts, unsatisfied. We are silent for a very long time, somehow I feel that we've been disconnected in a way for the first time ever. And I think about how lonely the air feels and wonder how normal people survive without a twin of their own.

"I see the way you look at them." He whispers like he's just muttered a sin. His brow is knitted. Confused, a bit angry. I look to my shoes.

"I think they're the same as us, Markie." I say, offing a whisper of my own.

"The same!" He is suddenly very loud. Louder than I've ever heard him be. He laughs, but it is not cheerful. It's the malicious, skin cutting kind. "The same? Us and those… th-those… _akage_?" He spits the word.

_Akage_. Red-heads. They don't even have names in his head.

I suddenly want to run home and hide under the covers. I don't want to feel this way. I don't want Markus to feel this way. I just want to wrap myself up in my cocoon and fall into a slumber that I will not wake from until things have calmed down.

We emerge from the building and a see our driver. I do everything in my power not to sprint to him and the safety he offers.

Markus steps in front of me, stalling us in the middle of the empty sidewalk.

"Listen," He says. It is not a suggestion. It's an order. "don't you remember? We are one soul, divided equally between two bodies. You always said so. We can never hope to find people like us, because they don't exist. That's why we have each other. Isn't that enough, Marinn? Why do you insist on just disappointing yourself? You've _always _done this. You strive and wish for hopeless things, even though you know how it will end. Deep down, you _know_ they're not like us, so don't get your hopes up just to be let down when they prove that fact."

His mouth forms a tight line and his eyes scour over me, searching for an answer.

And I begin to cry. Ugly, heart wrenching sobs and fat waterfall tears escape me.

I am crying not because Markus is right. In fact, he's very wrong. We've been looking at it the wrong way. His words, hearing them aloud, has unveiled something I have always glazed over, something I've never wanted to admit.

It's not that we wont find people to understand us, I daresay people of tried, but _we wont let them_. We are stone hearted and our veins are filled with ice. We are too black and white. We are the monsters that drive people from their villages. The simple fact is that we've been used to being alone for too long, there's no chance of ever learning to expand our world, even if there were some mad, wonderful people to share it with. We made it so that the hope of ever finding someone like us was over before it began. I just _wish _so much that it could be different. I wish I- _we _could learn to love someone other than ourselves.

I want it more than I can tell. I would do anything for that feeling. I would find a way to retrieve the sun and the stars if that is what it took. Making friends, finding love. It all seems like it should be simple. Yet it's that simplicity that makes it so unbearably complex and I can't fathom why it seems that we're the only two people in existence that can't understand it.

Someone please teach me.

"Oh, Marinn." Markus' darkness disappears as a soft sigh escapes him and he places a gently hand on my cheek, swiping away my tears with the pad of his thumb while his other hand occupies my empty palm. "Marinn, my sweet sister. I did not mean to make you cry, you are my most important person. I don't want to see you hurt, that's why I said it. Please forgive me. Please, please, please."

He presses soft apologetic kisses on my cheeks between his pleas. I wrap my arms around his neck and keep him close to me.

I have my brother. That should be enough. Yes, I will convince myself that it is. For I fear that if I don't, I will surely break into so many pieces that no one could ever put me together again.

"You are my most important person too, Markie. And I refuse to ever lose you. If you say that Hikaru and Kaoru are nothing like us, I will not do anything to bring us together." I tell him with all the honesty my heart can hold.

We pull away and he observes me for a moment, deciding if he really did the right thing or not.

"I love you, Marinn." He finally says.

"I love you too, Markie. Don't ever forget."

We then smile and laugh with relief, touching our foreheads lovingly together. We then walk to the limo, hand in hand.

And we do not speak of the _Akage _again.


	6. Kokoro Something

**[Markus' P.O.V.]**

I was walking around the first floor of Ouran alone after school. It wasn't my idea, honest.

Marinn had some questions about an assignment that she needed to ask the teacher about and forbade me from just standing there. She was trying to spare me the boredom, I guess, but she was terribly bossy about it. She told me to explore and that she wants a detailed report of all the places I saw when I returned. What was I supposed to tell her?

Hallways: Pink

Library #1: Pink.

Lunch room: Pink.

Gym: Pink.

Bathrooms: Pink.

Second floor: Assumingly just as pink as the first floor.

I laugh to myself as I climb the stairs. I think Marinn will like these answers, so I decide it's due time I make my way back to her. I stare out the window absent-mindedly as I walk.

Things have resolved themselves since a couple days ago when I told Marinn not to associate with the _Akage _anymore. She still stares at them sometimes, but she does not seem to venture any further, just as she promised. I've often wondered since that moment if I'm being selfish, or I really was concerned that Marinn would just end up hurt.

I've concluded that Marinn has too much hope in her heart, and she likes to give this hope to people. She likes to hand it out and really believe that people can take care of it, treasure it, but people always treat such hope as trash. Look at our mother. Marinn once had hope in her, long ago. Mom took Marinn's hope and traded it for more clothes and other material things.

On the other hand, at least Marinn has the ability to believe in people. I just can't. Not even for an instance. The only thing I have faith in is my sister. And it's because of this, that I'm so scared to let her stray away from me. Why is it that I want her love more than I want her happiness? In the end, I really am just selfish.

But those _Akage _really do bother me.

Quite suddenly, I feel something collide with my chest. I look down, confused.

A little boy with blonde hair sits at my feet, most likely knocked down after running into me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, slightly annoyed that someone is letting their child roam freely unsupervised. The blonde looks up with large, sweet eyes the color of chocolate and it causes me to take a startled step backwards.

He's going to cry.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry." He sputters, puddles forming beneath his eyes.

"U-Um, wait! It's fine! Don't cry!" I stutter, trying to comfort him. I was never good with dealing with children. That's more of Marinn's thing. The boy sniffs. Those puddles are turning into lakes awfully fast. "Um, um, um- Here!"

I launch my hand which holds a single hard candy that I found floating around in my pockets toward him. He stares at it for a moment, then looks at my face, which I'm sure looks distressed beyond comprehension.

"Really?" He asks in a innocent tone.

"Really." I assure, edging closer. His mood does a one-eighty.

"_Yay_!" He's off the floor, hugging my out-stretched arm, and popping the candy in his mouth before I can even take a breath.

"Thanks a lot! What's your name?" He asks, rocking on his heels and rolling the candy around his mouth with his tongue. An egg sized lump sticks out from his cheek as he hangs from my arm.

"It doesn't matter." I mutter, trying to pry his hands from my arm as nicely as I could. This kid had a surprisingly tight grip for being so young and instead of being released, he spun us in playful circles in the hall.

"Doesn't matter?" He asks, totally aghast. "Of course it matters! What do people know what to call you then?" His eyes meet mine, questioning.

"Not many people don't talk to me, so they don't need to call me anything." I say. Wait. Why did I choose to say that? That's kind of… personal. And _why _is his grip so tight?

"But surely you have at least one person to talk to. If not, you can talk to my Usa-Chan. He's really easy to talk to and likes everyone." He finally lets go off my arm in order to present to me a pink stuffed rabbit that I had not noticed earlier. I rub my wrists and look away, feeling really awkward and tongue-tied.

"That's okay." I say, mostly to the rabbit, but also to the strange kid I've somehow mixed myself up with. "People just call me Markus."

"Markus?" The boy questions, clutching the rabbit to his chest. "That's kinda weird. Are you foreign?"

I sigh running a hand through my hair. Normally, I would walk away, yell maybe, but this kid… is really hard to resist.

"Yeah, I guess. Listen, I have to go-"

"Do you have a nickname?" The boy asks, looking very eager for an answer.

"Nickname?"

"Yeah! My name's Mitsukuni Haninozuka, but everyone calls me Honey because it's shorter and cuter! All my friends have nickname's too, so do you have one?"

Before I can stop myself, it's already being blurted out.

"Markie." My hands fly to silence myself. What the hell? Never _once _have I ever said that that name to anyone other than Marinn, and then it was only to scold her not to call me it, so what possessed me to tell it to a total stranger?

The boy by the name of Mitsukuni Haninozuka is ecstatic about it.

"Markie-Chan? That's really cute! Almost as cute as Usa-Chan!' He says, once more as he displays his stuffed rabbit to me. He's smiling like a total fool. Happy and whole hearted, all the same.

My face turns red and I turn around to hide it.

"D-Don't call me that! It's weird!" I scold. I doubt it's threatening, seeing as I'm looking at my feet and my shoulders are hunched as if I'm trying to slink into a shell.

"It's not weird. Not if we're friends." Mitskuni says, appearing in my line of vision, leaning over and craning his head so that our eyes meet. He smiles, almost like he means it.

And a strange feeling throbs in my chest.

_Friends?_

My mouth feels oddly dry. No one has ever declared friendship so blandly to Marinn or I before. Sure, when we were younger other kids tried to play with us or talk to us, but never asked anything more than that. No one ever asked if we were friends, or if we ever could be.

And the thought makes my stomach reel.

"Mitsukuni," A new voice appears, it's deep and somewhat gruff. Mitsukuni and I look for the source of the voice at the same time.

It's a guy of extreme height, a skyscraper of a high schooler. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than myself. He had short black hair and concrete grey eyes and he didn't seem to acknowledge my existence.

"Takashi!" Mitsukuni squeals, launching himself into the guy's arms, which he in return responds very naturally by picking him up in one clean swoop with one arm. Honestly, I'm quite impressed.

"Mitsukuni, you shouldn't run off by yourself. Now we'll be late." The skyscraper says, in a bland monotone. Mitsukuni gasps, bringing his open palm to his mouth as if to catch it.

"Sorry Markie-Chan, but we have to go!" He apologizes, looking horrified for leaving me.

"It's alright- Wait. I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" I yell, feeling a bit pink again. The older guy gives me a nod of acknowledgement and starts to walk passed me to whatever destination they needed to be at. Mitsukuni waves at me from of the skyscraper's shoulder.

"Bye-bye, Markie-Chan! Come to the Host Club sometime and I'll pay you back for the candy!" He calls to me.

Host Club? What on earth is that? Whatever it was, it didn't seem like a place for a little kid to be.

"Mitsukuni, wait!" I call back to him. "Why are you wearing a high school uniform?"

It was a small detail that my brain just now decided to register. I stayed rooted to my spot, although I was unnaturally curious about this strange human being. Mitsukuni simply kept waving and decided to ignore my question.

"Call me Honey! Don't forget it!" He tells me, laughing a child's laugh. Soon they have disappeared around the corner, and are making me question if any of it happened at all. I stay glued to my spot for a few moments, trying to absorb all the information given to me.

"What the hell…" I mutter finally and march off to go find Marinn.

…

"So, where did you go?" Marinn asks as she gathers her things into her bag.

"Hey, do you know what a host club is?" I ask, ignoring her question and leaning against my desk. My thoughts are still grazing over my encounter in the hallway. Marinn's hand stalls on her notebook and she gives me a puzzled expression.

"Host club?" She repeats, a tinge of surprise caught in her throat. "Aren't those where they sell men's company to pathetic women who have nothing better to do?" I give a slight nod, furrowing my brow.

"That's what I thought. What is wrong with this place…" I mutter. Marinn's expression grows thick with confusion.

"I repeat, where did you go?" She asks sternly, concerned about what I've been doing for the last half hour.

"Nowhere really," I shrug nonchalantly. "But I think there's a host club in the school." That's what Honey said wasn't it?

_Come to the Host Club sometime and I'll pay you back for the candy._

A stupid sort of smile crawls slowly across Marinn's face and she cups her hand over her mouth, laughing into it.

"_No_." Marinn gasps, uncertain but hopefully.

"_Yes!_" My grin is uncontrollable.

We erupt into laughter, buckling in two and gasping for air.

"That can't be legal!" Marinn says once she has composed herself enough to speak.

"Well it's certainly not _normal_." I reply. After all, nothing in this school is.

"We have to find it!" Marinn says looking dangerously determined.

"Absolutely not." I deadpan, crushing any determination in it's tracks. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think we're exactly pathetic women with nothing better to do."

"I guess you're right." Marinn frowns. "I'm still curious about it though."

I'm starting to wish I hadn't said anything at all. The last thing I need is for Marinn to run off after some club full of men that sell feelings.

"Kokoro, have you ever been to the Host Club?" Suddenly, Marinn has done the unpredictable. She's started a conversation with that girl that sits next to her in class.

That Kokoro Something.

I guess this is the first time I've really looked at her. She peeks up from the book she had been reading, looking blankly at Marinn. She had light brown hair tucked into a tight bun and dark endless eyes that gave away no expression. They reminded me of black holes. No beginning, no end. She was very pretty, but a little vague looking. If you passed her in the hall or didn't look at her for a good amount of time, you would surely forget her in a minute.

She observed my sister for a moment, then returned to her book, uninterested.

"No." She says plainly. Marinn jutted her lip out in a pout, clearly thinking that she had picked the wrong person to interrogate. Kokoro was the only person left in the room though other than the teacher. She would have to do.

"Why not?" Marinn asks, hopping onto her desk and crossing her ankles and I move to stand stationary beside her, becoming intrigued with what reasoning would me. Kokoro Something with the black holes for eyes heaves a cumbersome sigh, shuts her book, and quietly places it on her desk.

"Because it's idiotic." She replies, leaning over to collect her bag. "Those guys are nothing but actors who think it's fun to flirt with girls. And the girls only go because they like to get pampered and fussed over and have the same sweet nothings whispered in their ears. Well, not me, thank you. I don't want recycled feelings."

She gets out of her seat, picks up her book and walks out of the room without so much as a glance at either of us.

Marinn and I look at each other, speechless.

"What was wrong," I start.

"With her?" Marinn finishes.

We shrug our shoulders, grab our things and get ready to go home. We soon forget about our interaction with the strange, vague girl who sat next to Marinn in class and start talking about what to do on our day off tomorrow.

But I can't help but think for a foolish moment that odd Kokoro Something just might be just a little bit interesting after all.


End file.
